Quieting The Fear
by Ripper101
Summary: This is just a reflective piece from Angel's point of view. When one needs reassurance, where does a Champion go? To his messed up, tired, irritable loyal supporter of course!


Pairing: None. It's a reflective piece with Angel/ Wes friendship. Nothing more.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em or the show they derive from.  
  
Author's Note: Whoah hey! Finally written a piece without any actual relationship! I'm proud of me! ^_^ But anyway, this is after the episode where Angel fights Spike for that blasted Cup thing and loses. This takes place after the episode and before the next one.  
  
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It had seemed like such an obvious situation at first. And one that I wanted taken care of as quickly as possible.  
  
And then Spike and I got into a fight.  
  
"I'm nothing like you"... "Drusilla turned me but you made me a monster"... echoes and screams that whisper in my ears until I can't tell if it's my voice or his. I wish there was someone who could just point to one of us and say, "Him! He's your vampire!" Maybe there is, but I just haven't run into them yet. Maybe Spike knows more about this than I do.  
  
So I go to the one person who can give me back my pride. Scarred, bloodied and bruised- I can tell Wesley's surprised to see me. Hell, I don't even know what shabby motel he's locked himself into and how I got to it, but there you go. I'll take a wild guess and say it's his blood still faintly humming in his veins. It may have been a long time ago, but lately there's been this bond or something.  
  
"Angel? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?" His blue eyes widen. "Oh God, Fred!"  
  
And because I can see exactly where his mind's going, I hold up a hand to interrupt him. "No. Fred's fine. We all are. Everything's..." I search for he best word, "fine."  
  
He relaxes. Then he looks me up and down. "I can tell." Bloody British humour! For a moment I can just see Spike's blue eyes laughing at me and hear his derisive snort in Wes' cultured tones. I only snap out of it when he waves me in with a resigned, "You'd better come in, then."  
  
I step in hesitantly, wondering why I'm being such a damned fool. Though come to think of it, 'damned' is the word that has me scared. Yeah! This prophecy wipes away guilt and if I'm not getting that then what hope is there for me? No matter what I do, I'm damned!  
  
"Angel, if you mean to stare out the window all night, you could have stayed at your place. Even your office has a better view than this dump." Again with the sarcasm. Wesley's been doing that a lot lately. He looks at me, makes some kind of decision in that busy brain of his and shoves me gently into a chair. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I didn't get to drink." God, I sound about six years old! Clearly Wesley thinks so too because he looks confused. I intervene hurriedly. "No, not like that. I just... Wes, is there a Cup of Perpetual Torment or something?" Wesley almost laughs in my face but manages to keep his composure. "Well, we thought there was!"  
  
Again with the confusion!  
  
I tell him the whole story, meticulously detailing every last little thing right down to the conversations and taunts. Wesley listens, perched nervously on the edge of his seat and leaning forward, giving those little intent nods of his. And the richness of his blood is wafting around the room, mingling with the decay and dust in the air until I get this feeling like I want to smash something.  
  
"So that's it. Spike got to drink it; I didn't."  
  
"Well, if the Cup was a fake, then this has nothing conclusive to prove. You don't need to give up hope..."  
  
"But Spike is the one!" I insist foolishly, needing Wesley at least to understand. Gunn was sympathetic but Wesley... Wesley is my loyal supporter; even more so because I know he doesn't want to trust me with everything and because I don't trust him with anything.  
  
"Spike got to the Cup on a fluke or a good show of strength. Angel, you're both fairly well matched and in a contest of muscle, you certainly gave Spike enough taunts to push him that last extra mile." God, it feels so good to hear anyone say that! Though I guess I should actually be ashamed of it.  
  
But Wesley isn't getting the point. "I didn't fight him at the end, Wes." His face goes blank. "I just... made a token gesture. Spike wanted it. I could see it in his face." Comprehension began to dawn in blue eyes so like those desperate ones in that stupid opera house. "His eyes, Wes- he made his usual mouth-off remarks but he really wanted it. He's fighting for it in a way I'm not and so I know. He's the One. He's the vampire in the prophecy."  
  
Wesley looks at me, glances at the window in contemplation and then shakes his head. I brace myself for the soothing platitudes. "Angel, how long have you been in this fight?"  
  
It's safe to say I never expected that question. "About five years. Why?"  
  
"And how long have you known about the shanshu prophecy?"  
  
"About two and a bit years. Wes, what's the point?"  
  
"The point is you're tired," he snaps. Then the fire melts away and he puts his hands up to rub his eyes. "God knows we all are. But you most of all! Now some of that may be your own silly fault but let's not throw stones right now. You found yourself fighting your grandchilde for a future you suddenly realized was only going to get harder. And maybe you began to wonder if you were even going to reach that final battle, let alone win it. So when Spike didn't just put up a petty bout of fisticuffs over that Cup, you simply said 'bugger this' and let him have it. Is this making any sense?"  
  
I blink at him in amazement. I'll bet Wesley debated in his schooldays. "But Spike isn't just someone I'd *let* take something like that."  
  
"Angel, whether you like Spike or not, he is your family! You had a hard enough time dealing with Darla and Drusilla when they were in LA. And we're all a little thrown off balance by the occurrences of the past few months. Believe me, you're only tired. I'm afraid it's the human in you."  
  
I offer a small smile at his grim joke. But for some reason his irritable rationalization is making me feel a little better. Like maybe I'm not being an idiot for craving desperately what I thought I couldn't have. And so what if it's Spike; maybe I'll get time off Hell for good behaviour or something. And at least I'll know I tried. Of course I'll also know I failed, but that's not the point.  
  
So I finally loosen up and the first thing I notice is that Wesley looks about as emotionally banged up as I feel. Confusion seems to be leaking from every cell in his body.  
  
"How are you doing?" I ask softly. I have no idea what I intend to say to chase his demons away. I don't even think I want to because a part of me wants him to keep suffering, to keep mourning his perceived failure of someone he really does love. Just like I do everyday. But hey! One good turn deserves another!  
  
"It's been rough," he admits. Which, for Wesley, is a real breakthrough. Man, he's getting better at this! "But you don't have to concern yourself with me. Very likely I'm just tired too." Or then again, maybe not so changed.  
  
I get to my feet, wondering awkwardly if I should press for more. Because he'll tell me, if I convince him I want to know, but I don't think I'll be much good. And as Spike mentioned, I make monsters. Wesley's tarnished enough as it is and my demon-bred advice might just be the wrong thing for him.  
  
He stands too, moving slowly as if his bones were aching. It's a bit of a shock to realize that Wesley's aging even as I watch him. Who knows, if he lasts another ten years I'll probably have to pension him out of fieldwork and put him behind a nice safe desk. Actually I'd love to do that now! To all of them!  
  
"I'll, uh, leave you to it then," I mutter, making for the door.  
  
Politely he waits to see me safely out, but when I'm on the stairs he comes after me with one last comment. "Angel, about what I said- I didn't mean to give you false hope. That is, Spike is still in the running and, unfortunately for you, he does fit the few known requirements in the prophecy. While his recent victory might be due to a- a sudden exhilaration of being and your tiredness, it may also be a very real acceptance of destiny. I'm afraid we'll just have to wait and see."  
  
From anyone else, this would be an instant damper. By rights my undead heart should decide to pack it all in for some nice quiet life with books and a garden (and maybe a dog or something for companionship). But from a friend, said with a friend's cautious sympathy, I can only feel slightly less tired.  
  
I don't know if I'm fit to head into battle the way I am right now. But if someone here thinks I have a shot, that'll be reason enough. 


End file.
